


Merlin, I'm Horny

by JET_Playin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Cockblocking, Did I mention wanking?, Dom Harry, Dom/sub, Edging, Fluffy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Kinky, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Powerful Harry, Scent Kink, Smut, Sub Draco Malfoy, so much wanking, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-16 14:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20836976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JET_Playin/pseuds/JET_Playin
Summary: When Draco hires Harry Potter to revamp his garden, he doesn't expect that keeping his hands to himself will be the hardest task he'll face.





	Merlin, I'm Horny

**Author's Note:**

> My second foray into kink! I'm excited about this one! Many thanks to sugaredsundrop for all of the encouragement and tweaking, and keyflight790 for the amazing beta!

Merlin, I'm horny. 

I thought this would be easier, but my body seems to have other ideas. It certainly isn't helping that Potter looks so…masculine. His broad shoulders, the way his shirt sleeves are rolled up over his forearms, that arse perfectly encased in denim. Even if he wasn't here, dressed in that ridiculous outfit, I'd know what he does for a living. There's just a look about a man who works with his whole body. 

I have to stop staring. He'll notice any minute, and then I'll look like a twat. It's not as if he's doing anything terribly fascinating. He's just lifting sacks of soil that look to be as heavy as I am, his muscles rippling beneath the thin material of that hideous flannel and the t-shirt below it. His hair is only long enough to be tied into a sloppy knot at the back of his skull and he's dripping sweat, despite the mild afternoon. Really, there's no excuse for my attention. 

"Haven't you got anything better to do, Malfoy?" he asks, not bothering to look at me. Which is for the best; I don't need him seeing the flush that washes over my face. 

"How would I ensure you do the job properly if I don't watch you?" I snap, crossing my arms over my chest and squaring my shoulders. 

"You could trust me and my references." He lifts another sack to his shoulder and strides to the flowerbeds. "It's not as if this is my first job, you know."

"I prefer to keep an eye on my investments," I counter. It's a thin excuse, but I think I'll stick with it. 

Chuckling, Potter drops the sack onto the growing pile and turns to face me. He grins and shrugs out of his flannel, tugging it off his arms. Then he crosses his arms at his waist, fingers grasping at the hem of his t-shirt and smirks. In one swift motion, he lifts the material up and over his head and my traitorous cock jerks, reminding me that it's already hard. 

Turning, I march back toward the Manor, desperate to get away. "Just don't fuck it up, Potter," I call, and his laughter follows me across the grounds. 

— 

It's been a week since Potter agreed to render his services. A week from his initial visit to the Manor to assess the grounds and existing garden, startling me with his immense presence in such a place. 

Now, he's been on my property for days, all six feet, rough-and-tumble man, slinging manure and pulling weeds. I'm at a loss for what to do with myself. I've been hiding inside since that first day, but I still watch him. I can't seem to stop. I've tried distracting myself with work; it isn't working. I want to wank, but I'm almost certain that he'll smell it on me, if I do. 

Shoving away from the desk in what is now my study, I pace to the window. I can see him, bent at the waist as he digs in the earth with his bare hands, like an animal. It's as if he's forgotten he's a wizard and that shouldn't turn me on as much as it does. Suddenly, he straightens, the dark skin of his bare chest—he almost never wears a shirt anymore—glistening in the midmorning sun. Before I can brace myself for it, water is streaming over his face and shoulders, originating from seemingly nowhere as he must have cast a wandless Aguamenti, and my knees go weak. 

I catch myself on the windowsill, before a resulting crash can catch his attention. Gods, what is he doing? 

His hands, big and workworn, are sliding over his chest and shoulders, down to his abdomen and around his hips, as if he's taking a shower. I can't breathe. I can imagine those hands on me, calluses scraping over the sensitive skin of my stomach and thighs, his delicious stubble burning my chest as he closes that insolent mouth over my nipples. 

Fuck. 

Reaching down, I wrestle blindly with flies of my trousers. I can't take it anymore, I'm so hard. A groan escapes my throat as I close over the neglected flesh. Squeezing, I brace one hand on the sill, my eyes still glued to Potter. He shouldn't be allowed. I should tell him to go, before he catches me watching him again. 

_ You have to leave, Potter, you're entirely too edible.  _ Yes, that would go well. Groaning again, I begin to stroke, my gaze locked on Potter's hands where they've mussed his already wild hair, his hips thrust forward with the position of his arms and legs. His denims are soaked a deep blue and heavy with water, dragging them low on his waist and showcasing the vee of his hips. 

By the time I imagine those hands cupping my arse, roughly kneading the soft globes, my hand is flying over my cock. I'm not going to last. Fantasy-Potter shoves his hands down the back of my trousers, under my pants, and I cry out before I can bite it back. Real-Potter turns toward the window and I panic. Whirling around, I drop to the floor, still gripping my cock, and gasp for air. 

Fuck! Did he see me? The idea sends my cock twitching again and I whimper, fasten my trousers, and stand. I have work to do. 

—

"Malfoy," Potter calls as soon as I step through the door. "A moment?" 

Gathering my thoughts, I steer myself toward the garden, instead of down the drive as I'd intended to go. Potter is squatting, shirtless, among a riot of flowers and spears of foliage, tapping dirt into place around newly planted narcissa. Mother will be pleased. 

"Yes?" I ask, trying to mask the dryness of my throat as he bends further forward, jutting his arse in my face. 

"I wanted to talk to you about the potions garden." Apparently finished, he rises and turns to face me, wiping soil on his denims. "Do you want the asphodel anywhere specific? I know it tends to clash with mandrake."

I must say, I'm surprised. Potter was pants at potions, where did this knowledge come from? Nodding, I gesture to the plot he'll be working in next. "Just put them at opposite sides. And don't put anything edible near the mandrake, they're greedy buggers when they're maturing."

Potter laughs—actually laughs!— and it transforms his face. Crows feet crinkle the corners of his eyes and the lines around his mouth deepen as it stretches with mirth. 

"Don't I know it," he chuckles, slanting a glance at me as if we've shared some kind of  _ moment. _ He stares for a moment longer, something I refuse to name darkening his eyes, before he speaks again. "I've seen you watching me. Still worried I'll fuck this up?" 

_ Oh,  _ I think entirely inappropriately,  _ you'll certainly fuck something up.  _

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say instead, determined to maintain eye contact. 

"Oh? So you didn't do a disappearing act when I saw you in the window a couple of days ago?" he says, stepping out of the plot and into my space. 

"I most certainly did not."  _ Fuck! _

He steps closer, leaning forward until he's close enough to whisper in my ear. "You know, if you want something from me, all you have to do is ask."

Startled, I spring back, putting as much distance between us as I possibly can, my head shaking violently. "I— I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Potter!" I spit, then spin on my heel and march away. 

Holy fucking hell. I just need to stay away from him, that's all. I can do that easily enough; I have business today and tomorrow. 

—

Fucking Potter left his shirt here. The hideous flannel he always wears. It's laying across the as-yet-unused sacks of soil. I don't know what drew my attention to the spot, but the shirt is like a beacon in the early evening gloom, and I'm drawn to it. 

Lifting it, I bundle it away like the secret it is, tucking it under my robes as I shuffle back to the Manor and in. The foyer is empty, of course; the house elves are likely preparing dinner and Mother is always working on something or other. Still, I race up the stairs and to my rooms, certain now will be the exception and someone will come looking for me. Someone will catch me. 

Safely behind my bedroom door, I lean into it, drag the shirt out, and bring it to my nose. Gods, that smell; fresh air, earth, and  _ man.  _ Half wild with the scent still in my nose, I push my robes aside and yank at the fastenings of my trousers. 

My cock is already half hard and it doesn't take much for it to fill completely as I imagine Potter’s scent enveloping me. Would he wrap his arms around me? Would he press his fingers into my arms and hold me tight against him? Would he taste like sweat and earth? I try to imagine my hand is his, but it's difficult. It's half the size and smooth, but I squeeze harder and my eyes are closed, and it's almost enough. 

Casting wordlessly, I moan when my cock is suddenly slick, easing the way as my hand speeds up. I'm gasping, whimpering against the door, my clothes a rumpled mess around my hips and thighs. I'm certain I look frightful, but I'm past caring. My focus is narrowed to the razor edge of my pleasure and the fantasy of Potter's breath mingling with mine.

He doesn't kiss me, just breathes into me as I gasp for air and moan his name. His striking eyes stare, unblinking, willing me to come, demanding that I lose myself in him. And I'm close, so fucking close. 

A tapping sound drags me out the fantasy and my eyes jerk to the window to find an owl hovering just outside. I whimper. I don't want to move, I don't want to stop, but it taps again and the hazy image of Potter disappears completely. 

Sighing, I release my cock and pull my trousers back up to my hips. When I let the blasted bird in, it perches on my shoulder and extends a leg to offer up its cargo. The letter is short, but jarring. 

_ Malfoy,  _

_ I think I left my shirt in the garden. Have you seen it?  _

_ HP _

Fuck. 

I scribble a quick reply— _ I am not responsible for keeping track of your belongings, Potter— _ and then set my clothing to rights. Dinner should be ready and Mother will be expecting me. 

—

Potter's talking, I'm sure he is. I can hear the soft rise and fall of his deep voice. It's doing things to me. It rolls along my skin, sending shivers down my spine and pooling heat in my— 

"Malfoy? Draco!" 

"Hmm?" I ask, still unsure what Potter is saying. "What?" 

"Jesus, Draco," he groans, and the heat intensifies. "How am supposed to get any work done when you stand around drooling over me like this?" 

I shake my head to clear it. Did he say…? No, no, that was clearly in my head. I try to focus again. "I'm sorry, what?" 

He takes a step closer, then another, a predatory look darkening his eyes. "I said 'I want you.'"

"Want me to what?" I ask. I've missed the rest of his request. 

"I want you, full stop," he says, and winks at me. 

"Stop that, say  _ your _ words."

"Draco," he murmurs, and I'm back in the fantasy, Potter’s hands closing over my hips, his breath ghosting over my lips as he leans toward me, a beat away from— 

Something hard brushes my thigh and it snaps me back to reality. To Potter’s hands at my waist, circling around to the small of my back, his face inches from mine. Fuck, what's happening? 

Jerking away, I put some distance between us—how did we end up so close to begin with?—and start backing toward the door. 

"It looks like it's coming along nicely. Keep up the good work." And I bolt, racing into the house and trying my best to ignore the laughter chasing me. 

Inside my study, I drop heavily into an armchair, my flies open before I can think about doing it. Potter's words, his voice, tangle my hand around my cock with no direction from my muddled brain. I wank, fast and furious, so desperate to come, to release this storm building inside of me. Within minutes, I'm standing on that razor edge, just a few quick strokes before I tumble over. 

Suddenly, a chime sounds, announcing a guest in the receiving room. Fuck! My meeting! 

As quick as I can, I tuck myself away and fasten my trousers. I press a heel to the base of my cock, willing it to go down just as a knock sounds at my door and Jinx leads the investor into the room. 

— 

It's Saturday. Potter's not here, I have no business to attend to, and I woke up hard. 

God's, but I need to come.

Shoving my blanket aside, I take my cock in my hand and groan low in my throat. Without the fear of getting caught, I slide my hand slowly up and down my shaft, twisting just so on the down stroke, lazy, unhurried. The flannel Potter left is draped loosely around my shoulders, the smell of earth and sweat wrapped around me and, behind my eyelids, he slowly peels off the rest of his clothes. 

As quickly as I can manage, I release myself and roll onto my stomach, summoning my favorite toy as I go. A simple spell, then another, and the dildo is braced at my entrance, ready to plunge into me at my signal. But I hesitate, reaching between my legs once again to give a few sparse strokes, and reassert the fantasy playing in my mind. 

I shudder and speak the incantation. 

With every inch of dark skin he reveals, I squeeze harder, pull faster, the toy in my arse thrusts deeper, until he's standing before me, nude and hard, his own hand wrapped around his throbbing cock as his gaze holds mine. I'm so close, my hand flying now. 

A knock on my bedroom door threatens to drag me out of my fantasy, but I refuse to let go. It's just Mother, she can wait two bloody minutes. Fantasy-Potter smirks, leaning over me. 

Suddenly, the dildo stops moving, buried as deep as possible in my arse. The thrusts become shorter, pressing in as the magic struggles to do its work. Swinging my head around to see what happened, I gasp. 

There he is. Harry fucking Potter, standing over me—fully clothed—his finger pressing my toy as far into my hole as it will go. 

He smirks. "Don't stop on my account." And he releases it. 

The magic overcompensates, flying in and out at a breathtaking pace, effectively removing my ability to speak. My will to tell him to go. 

Instead, I moan and fall forward, my shoulders on my mattress, arse in the air, and dildo still pounding me speechless. And Potter's hands slide over my arse, petting me as cooing compliments fall from his lips. 

"God, Draco, look at you'd. All pale and perfect." 

I shake my head, refusing to believe this is real. I'm just going mad, that's all. I've been on the edge of this for days and it's driven me insane. I can deal with that. And then Potter’s finger enters me, alongside the toy, and I whimper. 

Maybe I can't handle it. 

"You stopped," he admonishes me, he voice low and deep. "Who gave you permission to stop?"

But he doesn't let me grab up my cock again. Instead, he grasps my hips and drags me closer to the edge of the bed, turning me so my feet hang off the side and I can see him where my head still rests near my pillows. He reaches forward, between my legs and grasps my cock. 

"Fuck, you're so hard. When was the last time you came?" 

There's a whine in the back of my throat, and it's beginning to escape. Potter strokes and my whole body clenches. I'm so fucking close. Then, without warning, he releases me, pulls the toy from my arse, and replaces it with his tongue. 

I'm certain I scream, but I can't hear it through the blood rushing in my ears. He's hot against the sensitive skin of my hole, slurping and lapping at the loosened ring of muscle. I'm gasping, panting, my hips thrusting against him of their own volition. And then a finger presses into me. Two. And I really have gone mad. 

"Nnng," I cry. "Fuck, Potter!" 

"We'll get there," he says, twisting his fingers and dragging more embarrassing sounds from my throat when he brushes them over the tight bundle of nerves deep inside me. "There's no rush."

Pulling out, he grasps my hips and flips me over, as if I'm nothing more than one of his sacks of soil. Before I can form a coherent thought, his mouth is on me again, sucking my cock down in one swallow while his fingers plunge back into me, and I do scream. 

I'm writhing under him, my head tossing to and fro on the mattress, my hands grasping for purchase in bedsheets and hair—mine and his. Half words fall from my lips and I'm not sure they're even English anymore. 

Fuck, I'm going to come! I can feel it building, feel myself tensing with it. I drag a greedy breath into my lungs and hold it there, waiting for that glorious explosion. But it doesn't come. Potter pulls away, and I'm left feeling empty and naked. 

Gasping, I open my eyes to see my fantasy from earlier has reasserted itself. Potter is stripping, though much faster than I'd imagined and, when his denims are only halfway down his thighs, he's back, pressing his thumb into me and stroking himself. 

"I'm going to fuck you, Draco," he says, his eyes locked on mine. "Alright?" 

I hesitate, lifting myself up onto my elbows, then nod. If I have gone mad, I might as well embrace it. 

He lines up, pressing the head of his cock against my hole and I whimper. "Say it," he orders. 

"Fuck!" I fall back again, and throw my arm over my eyes. I can't look at him; it's too much. "Do it," I say. 

"Do what, Draco?" 

"Fuck me."

"Good boy," he chuckles and presses into me in one long thrust. 

He's bigger than my dildo, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. I don't even have time to adjust to his girth before he's pulling out and slamming back in. It's just this side of painful and I'm reduced to a babbling mess. I almost can't feel his nails raking down my chest, his fingers biting into my thighs, but when his hand closes over my cock, I bow forward. 

"Oh, fuck!" 

"That's it. God, you're beautiful." He's murmuring, grunting like an animal as he spreads me wide, his words slurred from the constant, jerking motion of our bodies. 

And, fuck, but I'm close again. I can feel it building and I know, this is it. I'm actually going to come, this time. Potter is pounding into me so hard I can barely breathe, let alone speak. But that's okay, I don't dare ask for more, for harder, because he might give it to me. 

"Do you want to come?" he asks me, and I nod fervently. "S-say it, Draco!" 

"I-I—" His hand loosens on my cock and I panic. Not again! I can't take any more of this! "Please, Potter! Gods, I need to come!" 

"Beg for it."

"Please, please,  _ please!  _ Please, let me come!" I'm mindlessly following his orders, all real understanding gone from my brain. All I really know is his hand is stroking me and his cock is fucking me and his words are luring me into saying the most wanton things. Things I've never said to another person in my life. 

And then he slams home, his cock buried so far inside me, it feels as if it'll never come out. And I come. And come. 

Fuck, and  _ come!  _

I think I black out from the sheer force of my orgasm, because the next thing I know, I'm laying limply and Potter is above me, thrusting again, splitting me open as he chases his own release. I can't move, I don't even want to. I'm still spasming with the aftershocks.

I can't remember the last time I came so hard, if I ever have. 

Potter reaches forward, and I think he'll touch me for a moment before his hands grasp at the sides of his shirt, lying spread out around and under me. He lifts them, wraps them around his fists, and uses them as leverage to pull my dead weight hard against him again, and again. 

Before long, his face contorts and his thrusts become erratic moments before he spills into me, his hot jizz filling me and oozing out with every thrust. When he finally collapses on top of me, I've almost got my breathing under control. 

"Fuck Draco," he pants, then takes my lips with his and restricts my airflow once more. "God, baby, that was perfect!"

I try to smile, but I don't know if I pull it off. I still can't move. 

"You did so well," he goes on. "You didn't come once this week? I'm sorry I teased you so much. But you did so good."

Now I do smile, pride coursing through me. Gathering all of my strength, I curl into him and breathe him in. "Yeah?" I ask, hesitantly. "Better than last time?" 

"Yeah," he smiles, wrapping his arms around me at last. "You still couldn't keep your hands off, last time."

My smile fades and I bite my lip nervously. "I, er… I did wank a few times…"

Harry frowns at me, drawing his head back a fraction. "Oh? Naughty boy."

"I didn't come!" I assure him quickly. Not for lack of trying, but he doesn't need to know that. 

"Still. You weren't supposed to touch yourself. I'll have to punish you."

"I know," I agree, nodding. 

"Later. We're going to have to do this more often, until you can keep your hands to yourself."

"I can't afford to hire you each time," I admonish and he laughs. 

"Then I'll just have to hire you next time."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Remember kudos are love and comments validate my existence ❤️


End file.
